


Tea Time

by sneetchstar



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Married Life, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 20:58:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10557604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: From a Tumblr post: "Imagine your OTP have a kid. Person A goes grocery shopping leaving B to watch their kid. When A comes home, they see B having a tea party with their child."





	

Abbie sets the grocery bags on the counter with a light huff, frowns, looks around, then stomps back out to the garage to grab the other two bags. Too proud to start shouting for Ichabod, she chooses the path of martyrdom and just does it all herself.

 _Normally he hears the car and is walking out to meet me before I've even opened the door._ She sighs, grabs the bags, awkwardly reaches up to close the hatch on the jeep, and heads back inside.

 _Where are they? It's too quiet._ She investigates. As she walks through the living room, she hears murmurs and soft clinking sounds coming from their daughter's room.

“...and _this,_ Augusta—”

“ _Lady_ Augusta,” a small voice corrects. Abbie stifles a giggle, clapping her hand over her mouth as she creeps closer on silent feet, wishing to observe unnoticed.

“I do beg your pardon,” Ichabod apologizes. “Lady Augusta, this is a scone with cream—”

“It's the Twinkie you cut into pieces, Daddy,” Augusta interrupts again.

“Are we or are we not playing make-believe?” he asks. Abbie peeks around the edge of the door just in time to see her husband straighten his back and raise his eyebrow.

Their daughter perfectly mimics the eyebrow raise in response.

But that's not what makes Abbie clamp her hand over her mouth once again.

Ichabod is seated opposite five-year-old Augusta at her little play table. His knees are bent up at sharp angles, nearly level with his shoulders. He lifts a tiny teacup to his lips and sips what is surely just water, long pinky raised. He has a tiara on his head and a green feather boa around his neck. Augusta is wearing the little Colonial-era frock coat Jenny had made for her, her fuzzy pajama pants (the ones with the cats on them), boots, a purple boa, and her father's wide-brimmed black hat (that Abbie had tracked down after realizing how much she liked it from her time in 1781).

“Only because you didn't want to have _real_ tea,” Augusta huffs. Her eyebrow may be her father's but her lips are undoubtedly Abbie's, and they pout just as prettily.

“I do not wish for you to burn yourself, and I refuse to drink – ugh – _iced_ tea,” he answers.

“Mama!” Augusta spies her mother in the doorway. She jumps up and runs to her. “Come have tea! Daddy is teaching me how to have _proper_ tea time,” she says, pulling Abbie by the hand into her room.

“Oh, is he now?” she asks, grinning at Ichabod. “I fear I am under dressed for such an auspicious occasion.”

“Here,” Augusta thrusts a bundle of red and gold fabric at her. “You can be Iron Man.”


End file.
